by John Robinson
At dawn this morning we left our home port on the Rappahannock aboard our Corsair F28 trimaran. I've been looking forward to this trip for months. The boys are recently out of school for the summer and the weather forecast looks fine. Life is good. As we round a bend in the St. Mary's River--which is especially calm and inviting after the crossing of the boisterous mouth of the Potomac--the sailing ship Dove comes into view. This stout vessel is a reproduction of the ship in which Leonard Calvert and his crew arrived in the new world in 1634 to establish first significant English settlement in what is now Maryland.
Prior to anchoring for the evening off of Church Point in the shadow of the Dove, we tie up at the St. Mary's College pier, with the dockmaster's gracious permission, and explore on foot. We wander the grounds of the college and the living history museum of St. Mary's City. It's a beautiful place, and I can't help but imagine how grateful those colonists must have been to be settling in such a place.
Later, after cleaning up another of our one-pot dinner stews, I sit in the netting between the hulls of Go-Go Girl writing in my journal as the sky blazes orange to the west. Ian entertains us with his guitar, and Marybeth studies the cruising guides. Taylor and Adam are finally coming back aboard from swimming and paddling our resident surfboard over to the Dove.
We delight in the immersion of ourselves into the life and history of the Potomac. Our days are full with all the activity that cruising entails: navigating, sailing, motoring, reading, playing, learning. We visit memorable creeks and points of interest. One of those is St. Clements Island, about 15 miles upstream from the mouth of the St. Marys River, also on the Maryland side of the Potomac. This is the site of the first landing by the St. Mary's settlers, and we are intrigued to visit it as well. A long, dilapidated pier makes access to the island easy, and we enjoy walking the sandy paths which crisscross the quiet island. The only structure standing there is a large stone cross erected in 1934 to commemorate the first landing. It's an evocative place, and on the day of our visit we have the island to ourselves.
On our Potomac cruise we sail when we can, which turns out to be more than we had expected. Otherwise we motor along with our trusty Honda outboard. When we sail under the Rt. 301 bridge, and see the cars and trucks speeding overhead, we feel like we're worlds away in time and space. Here we are on river time without a schedule, our trip unfolding before us at its own rate. We have definitely been looking forward to this: the sunken ghost fleet of Mallow Bay. The remains of over 100 wood- and steel-hull ships built for service in World War I, but too late and never commissioned, lie in the shallow water of this cove off the Potomac. We anchor among them for the night and listen to the frogs inland and gaze at the stars overhead, the water gently lapping at the boat's hulls.
We delight in the immersion of ourselves into the life and history of the Potomac. Our days are full with all the activity that cruising entails: navigating, sailing, motoring, reading, playing, learning. We visit memorable creeks and points of interest. One of those is St. Clements Island, about 15 miles upstream from the mouth of the St. Marys River, also on the Maryland side of the Potomac. This is the site of the first landing by the St. Mary's settlers, and we are intrigued to visit it as well. A long, dilapidated pier makes access to the island easy, and we enjoy walking the sandy paths which crisscross the quiet island. The only structure standing there is a large stone cross erected in 1934 to commemorate the first landing. It's an evocative place, and on the day of our visit we have the island to ourselves.
On our Potomac cruise we sail when we can, which turns out to be more than we had expected. Otherwise we motor along with our trusty Honda outboard. When we sail under the Rt. 301 bridge, and see the cars and trucks speeding overhead, we feel like we're worlds away in time and space. Here we are on river time without a schedule, our trip unfolding before us at its own rate. We have definitely been looking forward to this: the sunken ghost fleet of Mallow Bay. The remains of over 100 wood- and steel-hull ships built for service in World War I, but too late and never commissioned, lie in the shallow water of this cove off the Potomac. We anchor among them for the night and listen to the frogs inland and gaze at the stars overhead, the water gently lapping at the boat's hulls.
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